


with spun gold.

by tragoudi



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Folklore, High Fantasy, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn, Soulmates, Supernatural Elements, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:28:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26223415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tragoudi/pseuds/tragoudi
Summary: There are tales that pass down from mouth to mouth, traveling through time, and kept whole only by those who have heard it spoken out loud. Folk legends take on lives of their own, becoming bigger than what they truly are. Yet sometimes,sometimes, there is truth to them. The stories become reality and lives become changed forever.This is the story of the boy with golden hair.
Relationships: Choi San/Jung Wooyoung
Comments: 1
Kudos: 15





	1. pray to meet you

**Author's Note:**

> **Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello and welcome!
> 
> Am I slow? Yes. Do I promise that I am always plucking away at this at some sort of given speed? Also yes. This is also probably the slowest burn I have ever written so that'll be interesting for me.

A newborn baby's cry pierces through the nighttime, disturbing the relative peace and quiet of the small village. It's strong and healthy, the only thing that matters to the parents who breathe tandem sighs of relief. The mother collapses back against the bed, exhausted, her husband holding her hand and looking on with a look of pure warmth and adoration.

The moment is broken as the midwife gasps, choking out a shocked sound. The parents' heads whip toward the woman, concern flickering across their faces as she turns around. The little bundle in her arms is still moving, tiny legs and feet kicking in the air, and from the look on her face... it isn't something terrible. It just deepens the parents' concern as she lifts her face, wonder flitting across it.

"Ma'am... Sir... His hair. It is as spun gold."

The grip the father has on the mother's hand tightens as she tries to sit up, using what strength she has to push herself into a sitting position. "Truly? Our child is..."

The midwife steps closer and offers the little bundle down. As soon as the child settles into the mother's arms she hurriedly takes a few steps backward, her gaze averted and intensely concentrated on a spot along the wall. "I will inform the council at once. The townspeople will delight in knowing he has been born. By your leave..." She bows as she shuffles out, very much trying not to look towards the baby once more.

It isn't until the door clicks after she leaves that the parents finally look down toward their newborn child to pull back the blanket swaddled around him. They both suck in a breath as his hair is revealed, as bright as the sun, a stark contrast to the strictly black hair of everyone else in the village. The mother smiles as she touches his head, her hand tremoring just the slightest bit. "We've been blessed, love. Our child will bring us great things."

The father nods, smiling, and he leans down to place a gentle kiss to the top of his wife's head. "He will. Let me fashion his first covering. The council will want to see him, to confirm, but you know that they are not allowed to _see_ him."

She nods, smiling, absolutely beside herself as her baby wraps his hand around one of her fingers. "Yes, I know. We won't be going anywhere. Will we? My little San..."

* * *

There are tales that pass down from mouth to mouth, traveling through time, and kept whole only by those who have heard it spoken out loud. Folk legends take on lives of their own, becoming bigger than what they truly are. Yet sometimes, _sometimes_ , there is truth to them. The stories become reality and lives become changed forever.

This is the story of the boy with golden hair.

It was always said that there would come a day when a child would be born whose hair looked to be spun with gold, as though he were kissed by the very sun itself. This day would be joyous for the parents, for they would know that their village would be blessed by the gods themselves, but only if they followed one very simple rule: no one must lay eyes upon the child's face after their first day upon the earth, lest they invite a curse instead.

There were two exceptions to the rule that the people knew of: the first was any blood relation of the golden child can look upon them without consequence. This was the easiest to understand, it made sense that family would be allowed to see. How terribly lonely otherwise.

The second rule was more complicated, less certain: there is but one other soul upon this earth that is allowed to safely lay eyes upon the child's bare face. These two are bonded by something that runs deeper even than blood, for they are one soul that was once divided in twain. No one knew what would happen if that union were to come to pass, nor did they know how to find this other half of the soul.

What San knows for certain is that he will never find this person if he's to remain locked up in his room, only able to view the world from his window.

Perhaps locked up in his room is a little bit of an exaggeration. He's free to roam the rest of the house at his leisure, so that's something, right? He's met with the townspeople on occasion, usually when one of the council comes to call to make sure things are still going fine; they were apparently lavished with gifts upon his birth, and even given a new home, so their miracle needed to have a close watch kept on him.

But always, always, he has a covering on, a veil over the lower portion of his face. At least he's allowed to convey something with his eyes.

From his little window into the world outside, San watches the days pass by, watches history pass him by. War heats up the land, bringing it all to a scorching flame. They stay relatively safe out here in the countryside, for the most part, but there are a few bands of pillagers that try to take advantage of their quiet, of their inability to defend themselves.

It's the royal family that steps in. Though they are small, their grain harvests make up the bulk of what is delivered to the capital every year. The young prince is sent with a contingency to protect them, to protect the crown's interests, but it helps. There comes an evening that the pillagers attack in earnest. San can see them in the distance on their horses, torches held high in the air. Their flickering flames threaten the village's very existence, their entire livelihood. San has visions of everything they have ever known going up in smoke, and there's a brief moment of selfishness where he thinks he will lose everything while having known nothing. Nothing but the view from his window.

The prince and his contingency fought the pillagers back, the force more than enough to reckon with a few dissenters. Still, the village celebrated like it was the most glorious thing to have ever happened to them. There were parades, parties in the streets, gifts lavished upon the prince and his men.

San saw him through the window during one of the parades.

San thought he was beautiful.

He had felt his heart clench in his chest as the man went by, his eyes rapt with attention. There was something different from him, something San could only attribute to having grown up in an environment so unlike his own. The prince had turned his head, perhaps sensing someone staring, and their eyes met for the first time through a pane of glass.

San ducked down, back pressed up against the wall underneath the window and he clutched at his chest in an attempt to still the wild beating of his heart. By the time he peeked up over the window sill the prince was gone, but the memory of seeing him lingered.

He had gone to his parents that night, quiet and terrified, to offer himself as a gift.

They had resisted at first. Of course, they did. How could they possibly send their son, the one their village has been waiting for, away from the very village he had been born in to? It took hours of insisting, of convincing his parents that it was a good idea. How was he possibly supposed to find this fated one of his if he were to remain in this village?

It took another full day to convince the Council of the same; the arguing went on for too long, longer than San wanted it to. The prince--Wooyoung, he learned, and San spent a good while just saying the name over and over again to himself--was to leave the following morning to head back to the capital. San _needed_ to be part of that caravan.

He had to get out.

The morning was early and gray, a low fog hanging across the ground, creeping in from the fields surrounding the village. It muffled the sounds of the prince's men getting ready for departure, the whinnies of the multitude of horses almost inaudible. San had packed what meager belongings he had into a single bag, the reality of leaving finally settling onto his shoulders. He very nearly ran away, back to the safety of his room, but squared his shoulders as he headed to his designated carriage.

His mother was inconsolable, absolutely beside herself with tears. It was his father that had to make sure that he had all of his things--his coverings, mostly--secured away. He was swept up into a tight hug, shoulder wet from his mother's tears when they all finally broke away. San had still not yet met the prince, wouldn't until they arrived in the safety of the capital, and that was fine. It gave San more opportunity to steel himself for the meeting.

He climbed into the carriage, at last, leaving the curtains on the doors open for as long as he dared. The countryside was _beautiful_ , more than he thought it would be. There were wide plains of grass that would eventually taper off into woods or lakes, or any other manner of landscape San had never seen before. There were even mountains, though they were far off in the distance; San made a mental note to ask someday if he could go see them.

It isn't until they reach the capital that he finally draws the curtains closed. As much as he wants to see the city, he knows it's far safer for him to keep himself blocked off from their view. He's already endured the stares of the prince's men as they would occasionally pass by his carriage. A small amount of panic would sink into his gut and he would press back against his bench, a hand coming up to cover his face even though he knew his covering was still firmly in place.

The nerves catch up to him again when he disembarks, led away to a waiting room with his things, told that he would be meeting the prince shortly, once he's refreshed from the road. _I'd like to refresh from the road,_ he things, glancing down at himself. San's spent the last several hours in the safety of the carriage, leaving it only when they would stop to take a break, but he's still sore, achy, still smells like the dust of the road and the horses around them. But that's not a luxury afforded him, apparently, because soon enough he's being taken down a hallway.

A very large hallway. Is it really necessary to have ceilings that are so high?

San's still looking around him in wonder, caught up in staring at the sheer opulence surrounding them, only vaguely aware that they've entered a new room when a voice catches his ear. "This is the gift they've sent along?" The voice is curious, pitched higher than San had imagined it would be, and when he turns his gaze it lands immediately on the prince.

Ah, there it is again. The way his heart cinches tight in his chest at just looking at him.

San drops down to his knees in front of the prince, bowing at the waist as he touches his fingers lightly to the ground in front of him. "My lord. I am Choi San, and it is my honor to be considered a gift."

When he straightens himself up again he's slightly taken aback by the intensity in which the prince is staring at him. "Why is it you wear that covering, Choi San?"

San opens his mouth to answer but is beaten to the punch by one of the robed men in the room, an advisor he has to imagine. "It is a tradition of his village, my lord," and though he answers the prince, the man's eyes are on San, full of wonder themselves.

The prince hums and leans back in his chair again and San can feel his eyes raking over him. "A strange covering and even stranger hair. Perhaps you are a gift after all." His head tilts, and it's recognition that San sees there. "Ah! You're the boy I saw in the window, the one who wasn't down celebrating with the rest of the village." The fact that he remembers San, from even that brief moment... it makes butterflies flit through his stomach.

He's motioned to rise and the prince looks toward the man in the robe from before. "Show him to his new room." He looks back, and San almost melts from the soft gaze now leveled on him. "Freshen up. Rest a bit. I'll be by in an hour's time to give you a tour."

San gives a bow before the robed man motions for him to follow him toward the door. Just as he's about to leave the room he's stopped by the prince's voice once more.

"Welcome to the palace, Choi San."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew! Glad we got all of that out of the way. Things will start digging in the next chapter. Thanks for sticking with me!
> 
> As always, you can follow me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/tragoudi1) for updates! And maybe come chat me up if you want. ♥


	2. as if asking who you are

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god I wrote another chapter let's gooooooo.

"I am Kang Yeosang," the robed man offers, unbidden, and San almost jumps slightly at the sudden voice. His mind is still on the prince, on the way his eyes seemed to know how to peel back his mortal flesh to look at his soul laid bare. He had never felt so _seen_ before, covered up as he always has been, and there was a brief moment where he had wanted to give in to the insane desire to remove his covering to allow the prince to see him in full.

San blinks a few times, his head turning toward the man, and he tilts his head. What was it he had said? "I'm sorry?"

There's a small smile on the man's face as he looks toward San, and it's the first time he's given him a real look. He's handsome as well, with features that are chiseled right out of porcelain. His eyes are kind, if shrewd, a silent promise behind them that he is going to be watching San whether he wants him to or not. "Kang Yeosang. That's my name."

"Ah." San nods, filing the name away, tucking it into his memory. If his suspicions were correct, he was probably going to see a lot of this Yeosang; there had been only two other people in the room with them, the other being a stoic knight that had stood in the corner, saying nothing. Only two, alone with the prince. Wooyoung had to have great trust in them; perhaps he even considered them friends. This means San feels like it is now his unspoken duty to also become their friends.

"You don't say much, do you?" Yeosang asks with amusement clear in his voice. San flushes a little at the accusation and he ducks his head, embarrassed, which just earns a tut from the man beside him. "It's alright. There's a lot to take in right now, isn't there? Leaving your home, the sheer opulence of the palace, meeting the Crown Prince himself. I wouldn't be able to say much, either."

San's shoulders slump just a little as the tension across them starts to ease. He likes listening to Yeosang talk, he decides; the man's voice is soft, soothing, with just enough power behind it to demand attention when he needs it to. San bites down on his bottom lip and turns his gaze toward him. "How did you know? About my face covering, I mean. I didn't think it was a story that's spread very far beyond the village."

A smile breaks on Yeosang's face, soft and mysterious, and he pauses in his steps just outside a pair of double doors. "It is my job to know things, Choi San. And that includes any legends or folktales that dot our countrysides. This is your room."

It takes San a moment to register that the conversation ends as abruptly as it does. He's intrigued, to say the least, would like to hear more about these _things_ that Yeosang knows. San himself knows so very little, the more he stops to think about it; he barely learned the history of his village, let alone the history of anywhere else in this land. He makes a note to himself to inquire after more, more tales, more everything before he turns toward the doors they've stopped out.

With a deep breath, he pushes them open and steps inside, only to immediately stop with his feet barely inside of the room. He's so stunned by what he sees in front of him that he doesn't even hear the low chuckle come out of the man behind him.

San shuffles slowly into the room, his eyes dancing across every surface. There's so much to take in that he can't focus on any one thing at a time. The first thing to draw his eye is the four-post bed, large and luxurious, with more than enough room on it to hold at least three people. The bedding spread over it looks soft and inviting, tempting him, trying to draw him forward; the colors are light, white, and soft gold trim, and drapes are hanging from the posts to match. They're tied back, and San realizes with a soft gasp that he can close the drapery around his bed if he wants to, affording him even more privacy. His meager belongings, delivered to the room ahead of him, look small and unassuming on top of the trunk that rests at the foot of the bed.

It's expansive. This one singular room is roughly the same size as the entire upper floor of his home. San lifts a hand and rests it on one of the posts of the bed so that he can lean against it, his head almost dizzy with how overwhelming this is. Behind him Yeosang frowns just a little, his eyebrows furrowing together. "Are you alright? You look like you're going to be sick."

"I'm fine, I'm-- it's just. A lot." San lifts his hand away from the post so that he can lightly run his fingers along the fringe of the drapery, in awe of how _soft_ it is, how luxurious. He turns back around to face Yeosang with a dazed smile. "You all just live like this, with rooms like this, with this quality. It's quite the contrast for me."

Yeosang hums quietly at that before he nods. "We do, and I understand how reeling it can be. I came here from a rather simple home myself, my marks at the Academy getting me the position that I did. I spent almost a week yelling about the opulence of the palace." His lips twist into a small smile, and San instantly finds himself feeling a level of trust here he hadn't experienced yet. "So you can take all the time that you need to adjust."

The man finally turns and he gestures toward a door against the left wall of the room. "Your bathing room is through that door there. Your steward would have already filled the tub for you, so I suggest you take a quick bath before the water grows--what is it?"

San had held up a hand, his eyes widening just a touch. "My what?"

"Steward--oh!" Yeosang looks amused as he lightly slaps a hand against his face. "I nearly forgot. The prince knew that there was _some_ one being brought here, just not whom, and so he has assigned a steward for you, a wonderful man by the name of Seonghwa. He is very kind and attentive, and will be the person you will want to turn to if you want for anything, though I suspect he will learn to pick up on what you need before you even voice it; he has a knack for that sort of thing. You will likely meet him while you take your tour of the palace with the prince, along with his guard. You probably saw the man during your meeting? His name is Jongho."

San frowns a little as he tries his best to take in all of this new information, these new names. Jongho, at least, has a face he can put the name to already, but Seonghwa is a new enigma. If the prince personally appointed him, San can only hope that means there's no reason for him to distrust him. If anything, it sounds like he'll be trusting him with a good deal.

He jumps when a hand lands on his shoulder and his eyes lift to find Yeosang standing much closer than he was a moment ago, his eyes kind but searching his face. San sinks back into himself a little bit as he lifts a hand to cover the lower half of his face over the top of the covering already there, struck with the sudden need to add a second layer of protection. Yeosang's and lifts at the motion and falls off of San's shoulder, apologetic, and he simply nods. "As the prince said, welcome to the palace, Choi San. I will speak with you another time, I'm sure."

Yeosang offers a small bow before he turns and heads back toward the large doors to leave, his feet moving with almost complete silence across the floor. When the doors close behind him it's with an echoing thud that has a measure of finality behind it.

San slowly lowers himself onto the edge of the bed and takes one more slow look around the room. He feels almost numb to it, to all of the changes that have hit him in just the past few days, and he wonders how long it's going to take for all of them to finally catch up to him. Before he can think on it for too long he pushes himself up to his feet and finally heads toward the door that Yeosang had indicated earlier to head into the bathroom.

He stops as he steps inside, eyes once more tracing over every surface of the room. The tile beneath his feet is nice and cool, some sort of marble that's barely noticeable in how subtly the color contrasts with the rest of the room. It's awash in more white with gold trim with a pleasant scent in the air that he realizes, belatedly, is coming from the large claw foot tub located in the center of the room.

San moves over toward the tub and reaches down into it, sucking in a breath when he finds it still hot. He glances beneath it, the small charcoal pit under the tub simmering low but still giving off enough heat to keep the water steaming for him; had he tried it ten minutes ago, he imagines it would have been unbearable still. This Seonghwa really does know how to do his job well, doesn't he?

So he starts to undress, slowly, setting his clothes on a nearby rack, next to a change of clothing; he imagines he should probably wear something more suited to the palace for this first day at least. There's a moment's hesitation when his hands reach his face covering and he sucks in a slow breath before he removes it, setting it on top of the rest of his things. When he moves over to the mirror to examine himself for a moment it almost feels surreal.

He can see the reflection of the finery of the bathroom behind him and looking at himself standing here in front of it he doesn't feel like he belongs. Maybe he will, at some point, but right now he feels like a stranger in his own skin. San lifts a hand to run his fingers over his exposed face, letting out a breath as he rubs at where the lines of the covering settle around him; the skin is scabbed over in spots from the fabric constantly digging into him, and he wonders briefly if he could ask for something a little more... comfortable, now that he's here. Not that he doesn't appreciate what he's been given, but they were never a family of expensive means, the fabric the material used the best they could find but still nothing... _nice_. Not like what he's seen on the people of the palace.

San sighs faintly before he finally turns back toward the tub. He gingerly steps into it before sinking into the heated water, the soft apricot and vanilla fragrance enveloping him and leaving him feeling relaxed. He can practically feel it settle into his skin as he leans back, amazed that he can stretch out fully in the tub and still be submerged almost to his neck.

He soaks until the water finally starts to turn cold and it's with some amount of regret that San hauls himself out of the water. He's methodical with how he dries off before he stands in front of the clothes laid out for him. His hand reaches out to run over the fabric, velvet on the outside and satin within, red-accented with more gold, and he sucks in a slow breath before he finally starts to get dressed.

When he's done and can finally take a look at himself in the mirror he _gasps_ , almost not recognizing his own face. The clothes fit him almost perfectly and he has to wonder, briefly, how they were able to find something that suited him so well. Did Seonghwa look through his own things first to estimate the sizes needed? A slight invasion of privacy, frankly, but if it makes him look like this maybe it's not such a bad thing. His face cover gets slipped back on last and suddenly he's himself again, just himself wrapped in finery that he's never known.

He's just returning to the main room to rummage for some shoes when there's a knock at the door. There's a hesitance that settles on him before he finally straightens himself up to clear his throat. "Come in."

Whoever San expected to see when the door swings open, it's not the beautiful man standing in front of him. He looks like he's been chiseled from porcelain, his features refined and regal to the point where San has to wonder if he's a member of the royal court. He's pretty sure the prince is an only child, so he's not a brother. Maybe a Count? Or something?

But then the man is bowing, to _him_ , and San has to blink in pure wonder as he takes a step back. His mouth opens to tell him to stop when the man straightens himself again with one of the kindest smiles that San has ever seen on a human. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Choi San. I am Seonghwa, your steward. I'm glad to see that the clothing I found for you fit; you look lovely in them, by the way. How was your bath?"

" _You're_ my steward?"

He doesn't mean for it to sound like it does and panic settles into San's stomach at the look that crosses the man's face. His hands shoot up and he waves them wildly, eyes wide and apologetic. "I just mean-- You look-- You don't look like someone who would be a steward, that's all! Not that I'm unhappy about it. Or anything." San snaps his mouth shut as he tries to swallow the panic. "I-- The bath was wonderful, thank you. I liked the scents you chose."

Relief floods Seonghwa's face and San relaxes as he does. "Good, I'm glad. Are you ready for your tour of the palace? We're going to start with the immediate area, mostly, so as not to overwhelm you with too much information at once."

San nods, once, before he pauses for a brief moment. His hands drop and he fiddles a bit with one of his sleeves, unable to stop himself from fidgeting. "And... he's really joining us, then? The prince?"

"Hmm..." When San looks up Seonghwa is staring at him, his gaze piercing and filled with a knowing glint that makes him feel just the slightest bit uncomfortable. "Looking forward to seeing him, are you?" San bites down on his bottom lip and casts his gaze off to the side and Seonghwa lets out a laugh. It's low and pleasant to listen to and San finds himself relaxing again. "I can hardly blame you. His royal highness is captivating, to be sure. The people love him for good reason. Perhaps you will come to as well."

A noncommittal noise leaves San at that and he sits on the stool at the foot of the bed so he can finally put on his shoes. From the corner of his eye, he can see Seonghwa start to move forward as if to assist him and then stop himself, probably realizing at the moment that the help isn't necessary. When San stands up Seonghwa gives him an appraising look before he finally nods and turns to open the door again with a small smile. "Well, then, Choi San. The Prince awaits."

San sucks in a breath and steps out into the hallway, stopping almost immediately at the sight of the stern face of the young man from the meeting room. Seonghwa appears at his elbow a moment later with a quiet chuckle and he leans in with a low murmur. "Please do not mind Jongho too much. He takes his job as the Prince's personal guard very seriously. I swear, he has a delightful sense of humor."

"Hm." San doesn't necessarily believe it, but there isn't much time to mull it over. Not when Jongho steps a bit to his side to reveal the prince waiting behind him. His heart skips a beat and there's a moment's breath where he stands still before he realizes he should probably be bowing. San does so, bending at the waist and trying not to fidget too much as soft footsteps grow closer to him. A warm hand lands on his shoulder and San glances up, eyes widening just a bit with how much closer the prince has gotten to him.

"Please. There is no need for that if we are not in front of the court. Right now, we're simply two men. In a palace. With a bodyguard and steward hovering over their shoulders, _gentlemen_." The prince's eyes snap up and San straightens himself in time to see Seonghwa and Jongho look away as if they hadn't been watching the interaction very closely. "A few paces back, please. I'd like to at least pretend we can have a private conversation." San looks up and catches the prince's gaze again, along with the fleeting smile that flickers across his face. "See? Simply two men."

San can't help it. He lets out a small laugh, the corners of his eyes crinkling, and the way the prince's face blossoms into a broader grin has his heart immediately leaping into his throat. "I will save the bowing for the court, then, Your Highness."

The man hums quietly and holds an arm out. San stares at it blankly for a moment before he realizes that he's supposed to take it, and it's with a tentative touch that he places his hand gently on his forearm. They're close like this, so much so that San can smell whatever cologne it is the prince wearing, and when their eyes meet once more electricity shoots straight down his spine.

"Please," he murmurs, head tipping just a bit to the side, "call me Wooyoung."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And once again, you can hit me up on twt [@tragoudi1](https://twitter.com/tragoudi1). It's used just for updating but feel free to chat me up, too!!


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